


Samhain in Toussiant

by LozaMoza



Series: Moments [26]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Costumes, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Samhain, Smut, because Geralt and Yennefer, especially not Yen, no one wants to be predictable, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are invited to the Samhain Ball in Toussaint, and the Duchess' little tres prévisible  comment goats Yennefer into doing something rather rash....Basically this is an excuse to write smut on Halloween. Enjoy!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Moments [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806943
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	Samhain in Toussiant

“I still cannot believe she’s mocking Samhain with this absurd farce. And worse, that you’re forcing us to attend!” cried out Yennefer from behind the changing screen. Geralt simply rolled his eyes, focused on his reflection in the polished glass mirror, and adjusted the white and grey doublet he’s donned for the party. He was used to her complaints about the event, as he’d heard little else for the past few days since the royal courier dropped off the invitation for the Samhain Ball. 

In fairness to Yennefer, she was correct, the ball was a farce of the ancient holiday many peasants and countryfolk still held sacred. Samhain was the day that celebrated the reaping of the harvest and the welcoming of the shorter days of fall and winter. It was also the day many believed the veil between this world and that of the spirits was the thinnest, and it was possible for the dead to cross over, and even more frighteningly, vice versa. To protect themselves, the more religious would dress as monsters and animals to confuse the spirits and fairies that wished to steal them away into the beyond. And that was how Duchess Anna Henrietta got her idea for a Samhain Ball. All invitees were to dress as an animal or monster, no exceptions. 

To refuse an invitation from the Duchess would put even more strain on their already tenuous relationship. She still had not forgiven him for failing to save her treacherous sister, a move which Geralt would happily do again. Still, the invitation was an olive branch, and one he or Yennefer could not afford to ignore. 

So yes, he’d insisted they attend, dressed as animals, and she’d been making her disapproval - to put it mildly - known.

“Yen, you know the Duchess is wholly ignorant of traditions and rituals outside Toussaint, and Samhain is not generally celebrated south of the Yaruga. The lands are more fertile here, the winters less harsh.”

“So that excuses her callousness?!” she called back. 

“This whole belief about the veil being thinner is just peasant tales anyway.”

“The plane between the living and dead is always accessible for those with magic,” she replied. “But people may not be too inaccurate in their assessments that Samhain adds an element that makes those without magic sensitive to the plane as well. And yes, dressing as animals and monsters in an attempt to save oneself from spirits is silly, but it’s still a tradition that should be respected, if not believed, and certainly not openly mocked.” 

Geralt rubbed his temples. “Then you tell her that.”

“I prefer to have all the casks of her precious Sangreal wine transported to some swamp in Velen,” Yennefer replied, and Geralt laughed. “Besides, our Sepremento exceeds it in every way.”

She stepped out from behind the screen and Geralt momentarily forgot to breathe. She was iridescent. The bodice of her strapless black gown ghosted over the tops of her breasts, her creamy skin contrasting with the dark fabric in the most enticing of ways. It changed colors in the light - purple, green, silver, black - and was met with a skirt of raven feathers. Her black hair rippled in undulating waves down her back, the soft coils of her curls reflecting the firelight in their room, while her hands and forearms were hidden in black gloves with feathers placed along the seam, positioned in such a way to imitate wings. 

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d lost count of how many times he’d thought that. 

“Wouldn’t you agree, Witcher?” she said as she glided towards him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

Geralt’s body moved to her of its own accord. “Hmmm?” he said, as he began to kiss her neck, her perfume surrounding him. 

“About the Sepremento?” she whispered in his ear, nibbling lightly on his earlobe. 

“Mhmmm,” Geralt couldn’t think beyond getting her in bed. He wrapped one of his hands around her waist while his other found her breasts.

“Geralt,” she laughed. “The party.”

“Fuck the party.” He pinched her nipple and she gasped softly. 

“Oh no, you don’t get to say that now. We’re going.” She pulled away from him, eyes flickering to his rather prominent erection, and she smirked. “ You know we can’t put off the Duchess. Olive branch and all...” She began to walk downstairs, and Geralt guessed she was intentionally sashaying her hips to torture him further. 

He looked down at his now throbbing and neglected cock and groaned.

*******

“Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg, Corvo Bianco,” Geralt said as he stood by the attendant. 

“Of course, monsieur, though we in Toussaint are more than versed on the tales of the famous White Wolf and his Sorceress. The Duchess is eager to see you both. Please, this way.” 

As the attendant led them through the well-lit ballroom, Geralt put on the recycled wolf mask he’d purchased for the Vegelbud Party all those years ago. He was proud of his outfit, although perhaps it was a little expected, white wolf and all. Still, he paled in comparison to the woman on his arm. Yennefer’s raven outfit was, from what he could tell, the best outfit in the room, outshining even the Duchess and her completely outlandish peacock attire. 

“Witcher Geralt! Such a pleasant surprise!” the shrill voice of Anna Henrietta rang out. She walked up to him, the massive spray of peacock feathers in her hair and backpiece making it hard for her to move. “Might I say you two make the dashing couple. The White Wolf and the Raven, I presume? How very, how do we say, _ tres prévisible.  _ No matter, you both look divine.” Yennefer scowled, and Geralt knew they’d been somehow insulted. “And how is everything in your little Corvo Bianco. Such a humble home, but I hear you have made it quite habitable.”

Yennefer was about to reply but Geralt cut her off. “It’s lovely, Your Highness. Thank you again.” 

The Duchess merely waived her hand. “What use have I for a dying vineyard and decrepit villa. I am glad it is of some use to someone.” Geralt could feel the sparks coming off Yennefer. “Anyway, have you looked around? Isn’t it such fun? Who knew the peasants up north had such traditions! Samhain, even the name sounds fun, does it not? Apparently the spirits of the dead come to take away the living, and the only way to prevent it is to dress in costume! Can you believe it?”

Yennefer glowered. “Ah yes, the silly peasants of the North. Of course, it this matter they are wholly correct. It’s quite well known in the magical community. The spirits of the dead do walk among us on Samhain.”

The Duchess was quiet for a moment. “Fringilla assured me such beliefs were mere country folklore,” she finally replied, a little less sure than she was before.

“Oh, one cannot expect a sorceress trained in Nilfgaard to know about Northern traditions. She was, sadly, mistaken. In truth, Your Highness, I find it quite brave of you choosing a peacock. That is, of course, the consort of the hideous Beale, the three-headed demon of the underworld. The story goes that he was once a beautiful man, but his hubris and vanity were so extreme that the higher gods punished him, turning him into a monster. But still, his vanity persisted, yet he cannot stand the sight of himself, so instead he surrounds himself with beauty to hide his own ugliness. Peacocks are his favorite. I’d be on your guard tonight, just to be safe, Your Highness.” With that, Yennefer curtsied lightly and pulled a gawking Geralt to the ballroom floor. 

*******

“Was that really necessary, Yen? That shit about Beale? Is that even real?” 

“Depends on which Velen cult you talk to. Besides, she deserved it,” Yennefer smirked back.

They were in an open balcony overlooking the rest of the party, and Geralt was still reeling over the insult Yennefer paid the Duchess. “What if she tries to retaliate?”

“And what, evict the parents of the Empress of Nilfgaard from their home? How do you think Ciri would react to that? Toussaint is a vassal kingdom of Nilfgaard, Geralt, though I shouldn’t need to remind you. Plus, I’m more than willing to turn her into a slug should the fancy arise.” She took a small sip of her wine and placed the glass on the balcony ledge. “Please Geralt, you worry too much. Besides,” she hissed. “Her little  _ tres prévisible  _ comment was insult enough, the wretched hag.”

“I saw you balk at that. What does it mean?”

She looked at him, her eyes flashing in anger. “Predictable.”

Geralt laughed. “Oh Yennefer of Vengerberg, once the irrational and unpredictable youngest member of the Brotherhood, now settled to a life of complacency with her retired Witcher. The horror.”

“Oh, hush…,” she replied, hard hands gripping the balcony railing as she watched the costumed revelers below.

“Come on, Yen, there could be worse things than predictable.”

“Such as?”

He came up behind her, running his hands along her bare arms. Her skin prickled at his touch, and she leaned into his chest. 

“Dead,” he began, “which we both basically already were. Not remembering each other. Alone…” he started kissing the thin column of her neck. “Or the worst: being forced to stare at your impossibly-sexy sorceress and being unable to make love to her because you’re in the middle of a fucking party.”

Yennefer turned in his arms, lust and mischief in her smirk. She grabbed his wine glass, took a sip before setting it next to hers, licked her lips once, and bent to her knees. “Yen, what are you…?” but she was deftly untying his laces, and his question was cut off when her lips wrapped around his cock. “Don’t give anything away, Witcher,” she whispered.

“Yen…,” he hissed, her tongue flicking the head of his cock. Her hands started to cup his balls, tugging and pulling softly, and he fought back a moan. “Yen, they’ll hear…,” but he had to stop again to hold in a groan as she took him in completely. He lost track of giving a damn as her head began to move up and down his shaft, paying close attention to the ridge of his cock with her tongue. Geralt grabbed the back of her head, his hands tangling in her hair. He wanted to pull her off and fuck her.  _ Gods he wanted to fuck her, to taste her.  _ She started moving faster and he knew he was close. “Yen,” he warned, but she kept going, opening her throat to him even more, and his orgasm came hard and fast. He worried, for a moment, that it would be too hard for her, but she kept in time with his pulses, swallowing the streams of his release with practiced ease. 

When he was done, she let him go, dabbing the side of her mouth and smiling at him, but he was too far gone to play coy with her. He wanted his mouth on her. He pulled her up and pushed her to the far back of the balcony, shaded from the view of the party goers. “If you make a noise, everyone will hear,” and he dove under her raven-feather skirt. 

“Geralt..,” she gasped in a choked-off whisper. 

Her lingerie was lacey and black, matching the enticing garters she wore. He decided the contraption was too difficult to remove completely, and he was too desperate to wait, so he pulled the lace material to the side and thrust his tongue into her. He heard the tiniest whimpered and he lapped at her, savoring the heady taste. She was soaked, and he felt himself hardening again and the decadence of her. He nibbled her clit lightly, and she grasped at his shoulders, or at least where she assumed his shoulders should be. He redoubled his efforts, running his tongue along her swollen folds, and the quivering in her knees told him she was close. He tasted her orgasm as she let out a choked scream, and proceeded to knock over a small brass candelabra as her arm flew back against the wall.

The sound of the metal hitting the floor was  _ deafening. _

“Shit!” she yelped. People would definitely hear that. Geralt escaped the confines of her dress, fumbled to tuck in his erection and retie his laces, and managed to get himself barely decent before a guard came to investigate the sounds from the balcony. 

“Is everything ok, mademoiselle?” the young guard asked as he surveyed the scene. Geralt could only imagine how it looked. Yennefer breathing heavily, his obvious erection, her rumpled skirts and disheveled hair. 

“Fine, everything’s fine. In my clumsiness, I accidentally knocked down a candelabra.” 

The guard looked over the scene again and smirked. “You are the famous witcher and sorceress,  _ qui? _ From the ballads of Master Dandelion?”

Geralt cleared his throat and subconsciously wiped his lips. “Yes,” he replied.

_ “La petite mort,” _ the guard laughed under his breath. “I will leave you to it, then,” he smiled and turned to walk away.

Geralt looked over at Yennefer, who was holding in a laugh. “Well, he certainly knows,” she smiled. Geralt pulled her to him and kissed her softly, grabbing the wine glasses they had left on the balcony ledge. He handed hers to her and clinked the glass.

“To predictability,” he smiled.

She smiled. “To predictability.” She kissed his cheek, and they walked hand-in-hand to enjoy the rest of the party. 

**Author's Note:**

> Some French Terms:  
> tres prévisible: predicitable, expected  
> le petit mort: "the little death", or the French term for orgasm
> 
> Also, Samhain is a real holiday, and the ancient precursor to Halloween. It’s description in the story is true. The story of Baele, however, is totally made up by me!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and Happy Halloween!


End file.
